


The Lunge for the Sublime

by Neurotoxia



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Anal Sex, Dating, Humor, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24215428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurotoxia/pseuds/Neurotoxia
Summary: Reno has never been this gone over anyone before. It turns undercover work together from a fun date to something more precarious. Lucky for Reno, Tseng doesn't share his doubts.
Relationships: Reno/Tseng (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	The Lunge for the Sublime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crookedspoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/gifts).



> Many thanks to crookedspoon for the beta and for joining me in my FFVII blanket fort. Once you're done with this fic, I highly recommend reading their first offering to this fandom, [**what else could I do**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170005) and leaving a handful of kudos and comments.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://neurotoxia.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/neurotoxia) if you'd like to say hi.

Is it a date when it’s on company time? In all his years at Shinra, Reno never had to consider this question before, but it keeps going around his brain as he tries not to check his hair in his toothpaste-sprinkled bathroom mirror for the third time. Probably shouldn’t be, but he’s wearing a nice shirt and goddamn cologne, so he’ll make it a date, whatever Tseng’s opinion on it may be. 

He left a lot of dignity behind in convincing Elena to swap assignments with him. She is now owed a visit in his company to the new version of _Loveless: The Musical_ playing in the theatre two streets down from his place. Reno hates musicals; and living in Sector 8, he’s seen enough of _Loveless_ to last him a lifetime and a half, but Elena had complained to anyone who would listen (and even those who wouldn’t) that none of her friends wanted to go and going to a show alone was just sad. Reno only hopes the theatre will be dark enough for him to fall asleep and that Elena won’t punch him when he does.

Rude might be pissed when he finds out that he’ll be guarding Heidegger and Scarlet with Elena tomorrow, because Reno possibly _forgot_ to let Rude know he switched shifts. Not that Rude would mind doing a job with Elena, he’ll be pissed Reno didn’t tell him. Reno doesn’t have a good enough excuse to give Rude, so he chooses not to give one at all. Elena is still new enough to believe a whole lot of justifications Rude wouldn’t buy if they came gift-wrapped. Reno plans to delay the “I’m sleeping with the boss” conversation until the end of time at the very least. Ideally, Rude finds them in a compromising position one day and they’ll never have to use actual words to talk about it.

Reno likes to think Tseng, too, might be looking forward to spending the evening together; his protests about swapping with Elena were token at best. He spit out the required three phrases from the handbook of proper conduct or something equally boring, and then told Reno to meet him there at ten. Wall Market is always fun, even if you’re there to keep your eyes and ears open. At least Reno thinks it’s fun, but slum entertainment has always been more his gig than anything going on up top. 

Reno hums the Honeybee music as he leaves his flat, making his way to the station. 

They’re meeting up outside Wall Market Entrance, and even though Reno is just shy of two minutes late, Tseng is already waiting in grey linen trousers and a white button-down, checking his watch. His hair is swept up in a high ponytail, something Reno hasn’t seen on him in a few years, but Tseng still looks like a million Gil with it, especially now that his hair has gotten so long. There are really no occasions when Tseng doesn’t look like he stepped off a magazine page because the bastard manages to look hot no matter what, but seeing him outside of his work suit is a bonus every time.

“How much for the night, beautiful?” Reno asks and leans against the lamp post Tseng is waiting under. He plasters his sleazeball grin across his mouth, deliberately raking his gaze up and down Tseng’s body in blatant fashion. 

“More than you can afford,” Tseng says and Reno sees the corner of his mouth twitch. 

“Aww,” Reno coos. “Real shame. How ‘bout a kiss?”

“Two fingers of whiskey,” Tseng offers and cocks his head, continuing to play along. 

“Deal!”

Reno leans in and captures Tseng’s mouth with his. In Wall Market, no one gives a fuck who (or honestly, even _what_ ) you’re kissing, therefore Reno has very little reservations about ravishing Tseng. Not that he has any about doing it above plate, or in Shinra Tower itself, for that matter, but Tseng has a boring sense of appropriateness about such things. The things they could get up to at work if Tseng were a little less straight-laced about it. One day...

Tseng lets the kiss go on for longer than Reno thought he could get away with, particularly when they’re about to go on the clock. He counts it as a win, even when Tseng pulls back sooner than Reno would have liked.

“I haven’t even had my whiskey yet,” Tseng admonishes.

“Didn’t say anything about payment upfront,” Reno replies, grin bright on his face, and steals another peck.

Honestly, he should be repulsed to be so gone over anyone. He expects to start vomiting rainbows any day now. And yet, he’s unexpectedly one-hundred percent okay with that. If you manage to bag someone like Tseng, you just roll with it. And if rolling with it means staring vacantly at the boss in meetings with hearts practically fluttering from your eyeballs, he’ll do that, too. It’s a good thing that no one expects him to pay attention.

“I intend to collect,” Tseng says and only now really pulls away from Reno. “Just the one, though, we’re on duty.”

“We’re still gonna be the most collected folks in Wall Market if we down a bottle each,” Reno snorts and lights a cigarette before he starts following Tseng through Wall Market’s gates.

“And yet, we’re not going to be doing that,” Tseng replies, and side-steps a guy attempting to thrust a flyer into his hand. “Understood?”

“Spoilsport,” Reno grumbles with a smile and follows Tseng into the fray.

* * *

It’s a dive bar like a dozen others, but this one’s known to be frequented by crooks at a higher rate than the ones in the neon-lit, slightly more polished squares in the centre of Wall Market. The crooks are what they’re interested in – they need to stay on top of Midgar’s underbelly, whack a few heads together here and there if someone is getting too big for their britches. Reno enjoys those whacking excursions, he gets a lot of fun out of watching Rude intimidate the shit out of small-fry mobsters who think they can pull one over Shinra.

The music in the joint is just loud enough to make talking annoying, and just packed enough to be wishing some of the people around you took a shower once in a while. How hard is that? Reno prizes himself on being lazy, but even he manages to haul himself into the shower in the morning. The smoke from cigarettes, weed, and opium hangs heavy in the air, curling under the lamps with nowhere to escape. Reno contributes by smoking another cigarette while he watches the barman pour two whiskeys. In a bar like this, you watch your drink the second it leaves the bottle. He learned that one the hard way. 

One glass he hands off to Tseng before they go mingle in separate corners, hopefully reuniting later so they can get some one-on-one time out of this. Reno turns on the communicator to a low level – it makes listening to conversations around you harder, but Tseng insists they have a way to alert the other that doesn’t rely on line of sight.

By virtue of having hair that commands the same sort of attention that a flare would, Reno pulls up the hood of the zipper vest he brought, but he hangs back, out of the direct light regardless – there’s only so much of his ponytail that fits in the hood without a spilling accident. Officially, Shinra keeps out of Wall Market business, but the suits up high still want the intel, so the Turks go in as unofficial sniffer dogs once in a while. 

He leans back against a partition with three gang members on the other side – the Doomrats are low-level street punks with matching denim vests, but they sell drugs for the bigger mobs and know a lot of people, which makes them worth listening in on. Reno pulls his PHS out of his pocket and pretends to play around with it, even though the exploits of Doomrat 1 with his (sure to be imaginary) ‘lady’ already bore Reno enough to play puzzle games for real. Or send Tseng a few dirty messages.

“...but lovely ladies such as yourselves?” comes syrupy through his wire, with a fake Wutai accent, and Reno knows he shouldn’t look up and over, but he does anyway, over to where he saw Tseng last.

There he is, at a table more towards the centre of the room, surrounded by four women that look too upscale to be in this dump. Judging by the tan and complexion, they hail from much sunnier climates than Midgar.

“Aww, Mr. Xin,” one of them coos. Costa, if Reno had to guess the accent. “I’m getting married soon, you know?”

What the heck is Tseng doing, chatting up a bunch of rich girls from Costa del Sol on a bachelorette trip? What is he doing chatting up anyone? Tseng is the perfect lurker, capable of slithering around in the shadows for hours without anyone ever guessing he was there, relieving you of all your secrets, and, if he were so inclined, your valuables, too.

“And you’re certain,” Tseng says in Reno’s earbud, leaning in closer to the one in the blue silk dress, big smile on his face, “that I can’t convince you otherwise?”

Like on cue, the girls shriek in amused delight. 

Reno needs to turn back around, he’s anything but subtle, standing there, gaping like a goldfish across the room. But this, right there, is uncanny valley. Tseng is leaning on the table in a relaxed posture Reno had no idea the man was capable of. The friendly smile is clearly fake, and Reno didn’t even know Tseng’s facial muscles worked that way, but it looks so genuine, it almost convinces _him_. There’s an air of ‘come hither’ about him that’s impossible to miss and has these girls sucked right in.

The girl in the blue dress is almost in his lap at this point, and another one in a bright green number won’t stop touching Tseng’s arm. Reno just about suppresses the urge to hiss like a cat, but he must be making some sound the radio picks up, because Tseng carefully glances over his shoulder in Reno’s direction and catches him staring like an idiot. Tseng narrows his eyes at him in a blatant communication of _what the hell are you doing?_ and Reno tears his gaze away, forcing himself to look back at his PHS.

He turns his communicator all the way down before he breaks his own teeth clenching his jaws every time peals of girlish laughter ring through. The gang’s conversation on the other side of the partition is going in one ear and floating out the other without any of its contents registering in Reno’s brain. They could be plotting a coup against Shinra and it would fly right over his head.

Fits of jealousy are foreign to Reno, but so is the idea of serious relationships. He knows the thing with Tseng is serious, one reason they danced around each other for a long while, but it’s also new and delicate. Reno is many things, and delicate is usually not among them. And while he has a hard time admitting it to himself, he’s worried about fucking it up. With how different they are, it seems easy for him to put his foot in it and Tseng deciding he‘s got better options.

Better options he clearly has no problems acquiring. The thought burns like acid in the back of his mind.

He steals another glance in Tseng‘s direction. His arm is around Miss Green Dress, while future Mrs Blue Dress appears ready to forget about her fiancé. Reno can taste the acid in the back of his throat at this point.

With a sharp spin of his heel, Reno abandons his line of sight and moves back further into the depths of the guest room. Screw Tseng‘s directions about staying within eyesight of each other. If he sticks to his spot, he‘s going to start a bar fight in less than five minutes just so he‘ll have something to punch, and bar fights rank low on the list of approved undercover activities. 

He hangs around some prostitutes gossiping about a client who works for Shinra management and claims he came into a lot of money recently. Reno makes a mental note, at least that way he has _something_ to show for the night other than a bruised ego. He‘ll have to sniff around management bank accounts for the next few days, see if something is actually up, but mindless bullshit sounds great right about now, and it‘s hysterical to hear himself think it.

The rest of the time, he spends trying hard not trying to think about Tseng and whatever he‘s getting up to with his newfound harem of Costa del Sol socialites. Reno hightails out of the bar five minutes before the assignment officially ends, but he really wants Tseng to give him shit for it. He‘d love a reason to bite Tseng‘s head off.

  


* * *

Across from the bar is a sweets vendor, the smell of frying dough and burnt sugar wafting through the narrow alley. Reno tosses the man some Gil and bites the head off a dorayaki in lieu of Tseng while he waits for the esteemed Mr. Xin to remove himself from the bar. The urge to just go home without waiting is strong, but Tseng would have his balls if he did, and it would be his right to do so. You don‘t leave your partner behind at the end of a mission.

It‘s another couple of minutes before Tseng appears at his side, and yes, that smell is definitely women‘s perfume. Reno is tempted to hold his lighter to the shirt and burn the damn thing.

“Ready?” Tseng asks, back to speaking with his normal voice. Thank fuck, that syrupy Wutai accent was creepy as fuck.

“You done collecting phone numbers?” Reno mutters and crumples up the empty paper wrapper from the dorayaki. He shoves it deep into the pocket of his hoodie, the one he‘s still hiding himself in. The less Tseng sees of his face, the better.

“Yes, actually,” Tseng replies and pats his breast pocket. The bastard really did collect them. “It was illuminating.”

“I bet,” Reno snorts, ripe with derision, and starts moving towards Wall Market‘s exit, Tseng trailing a step behind him.

“One of them is the niece of Edwan Syme,” Tseng says, unconcerned with the foul mood Reno is telegraphing. “A contact could be useful.”

“ _The_ Edwan Syme?” Reno asks despite himself. The guy used to work with Shinra. Got a whole lot of contracts for building train tracks up on the plates before he and the old man fell out a couple years back. 

“The very same.”

“And one of those Barbie dolls back there is supposed to be useful?”

“That Barbie doll has an MBA and is set to become the Syme Ltd’s youngest board member next year,” Tseng lobs back at him with the assured calm of someone who just exposed you as a superficial asshole and knows it. “I would call it useful.”

“I‘ll give you a lift for your Costa del Sol booty call sometime.”

With every sentence that leaves his mouth Reno becomes increasingly aware why Tseng avoids putting himself on assignment with Reno now. Your judgment is shit when you’re working these kinds of jobs with your lover. No doubt that Tseng knows it, the arch of his eyebrows says it all – as does the refusal to engage with Reno’s nonsense. If he wants to, Tseng can give you a verbal lashing for the ages. He doesn’t fly off the handle much these days, but if he does, it’s usually Reno making it happen. Rude keeps saying how Reno has the dubious honour of bringing out the worst in Tseng. 

Hell, maybe Tseng should take the no doubt extended invitation of a Costa booty call. Voluptuous board member with an MBA sounds appealing when you compare it to barely-educated slum rat in a suit. So much for making it a date.

They reach the station after a few minutes of walking in silence. Since they live in different sectors, Reno needs to take the train in five minutes or he’ll be stuck for another hour. Tseng’s got another eight minutes on the clock for his Sector 3 train.

Tseng is the one to break the silence: “Do you want to stay over?”

A couple hours ago, Reno would have jumped at the chance, especially since they’re both scheduled late tomorrow. They haven’t gotten many chances yet to spend a night without someone having to crawl out of bed at four a.m. Now, though…

“I’m good,” Reno mutters and feeds the vending machine next to him a few Gil for a can of Chocobo Cola. He’s better off feeling sorry for himself in his own four walls and most days, Tseng is content to let him sulk for a while without getting involved.

“Reno,” Tseng says, in a tone that Reno can’t place, and grips his upper arm with the yield of an iron manacle. “Look at me.”

He’d rather not, but Tseng’s words are courtesy at best, so Reno turns his head and Tseng tugs the hood down with his free hand.

“You’re coming with me,” Tseng continues and uses his grip to pull Reno into a tour de force of a kiss. 

Reno hasn’t received a kiss like this from Tseng outside of their respective bedrooms, so he very nearly feels like an exhibitionist for doing this in the middle of a train platform with a handful of other commuters around. Tseng’s one hand wandered into the back pocket of his trousers, the other is in his hair, there’s tongue and a hint of teeth, and the best Reno can do is hold on and not go weak in the knees. 

“Understood?” Tseng utters against his jawline when Reno is ready to start making embarrassing noises in public.

“Whu?” His question is garbled, still attempting to collect the brain cells that must have leaked out his ears during the kiss. Only then does he get what Tseng’s referring to. “Do I have a choice?”

Tseng snorts quietly. “No.”

His hand detangles from Reno’s hair, coming to rest on the side of his face, thumb stroking the tattoos on his cheekbones in a soothing motion. “I believe you asked for the rest of the night.”

Now it’s Reno’s turn to snort. “I thought I couldn’t afford ya.”

“Special discount.” Tseng smiles. Not Mr. Xin’s glib smile, but the real one Reno usually has to work for to see. “For my favourite customer.”

“Your only one, I hope,” Reno says and it’s coming out as less of a tease than he’d aimed for. Raw emotion with a side of abandonment issues, dressed up in a transparent layer of teasing is more like it. Sometimes, Reno hates having no control whatsoever over the things coming out of his mouth before his brain catches up.

For several long moments, Tseng simply looks at him. In the muted orange light from the street lamp a few metres away, Reno can’t discern any particular emotion on Tseng’s features. His heart has relocated to his throat, a throwaway comment like this shouldn’t feel like a high stakes poker game.

“Of course,” Tseng finally says, voice quiet, but with unshakeable conviction, and grasps Reno’s chin with light fingers to pull him into another kiss.

For the first time in hours, the ugly thing clawing at Reno’s insides recedes.

  


* * *

Tseng is humouring Reno, and Reno knows it, but he‘s still soaking it up like a dry sponge in a shallow puddle. They‘re sharing a train car with three other people: a salaryman nodding off and jerking awake every other minute, an older lady with a bird’s nest of greyed brown hair who is wrapped in way too many layers of garments for the mild weather, and a twitchy young guy with a washed out blue mohawk and a battered bomber jacket. Reno keeps tabs on the twitching guy from the corner of his eye — the dude is on something and he’s having a mediocre time of it. 

Even though they’re not alone, Reno is slumped against Tseng’s side, and Tseng’s arm found its way around Reno’s shoulder, fingers playing with the short hairs at the base of his skull. For Tseng, it’s a crazy amount of PDA, and Reno will take it. Thankfully, the whiff of perfume around Tseng has mostly dissolved by this point, so he doesn’t have to wrestle with his feelings of blind hatred towards women from Costa del Sol as much. 

“It’s unsettling when you’re this quiet,” Tseng says, only loud enough for Reno to hear, brushing his lips against Reno’s temple. 

“Maybe I’m just tired,” Reno mutters and rests his head on Tseng’s shoulder. 

Tseng hums in his noncommittal way and doesn’t bring it back up for the rest of the trip. 

  


* * *

It’s colder up on the plate, the winds stronger and the streets wider than the ramshackle alleys downstairs. Sector 3 is slightly more upscale, but mostly made of nondescript living quarters. Lots of apartment buildings and less single homes in this part of Midgar. It’s not a Sector you visit unless you have a reason. Reno prefers the hum and bustle of Sector 8. He’s got the privileges for living in any sector that he pleases, but he likes 8 just fine. 

Reno used to think Tseng lived in one of Sector 1’s slick glass towers with their ultra modern architecture and expensive penthouses. He looked so at home in the concoction of glass, metal, and black marble of Shira Tower that anything else seemed impossible. But then he’d seen Tseng’s actual place and had to reconsider a few things. Tseng lives on top of a greasy Banora diner that always seems to be open, day or night, rain or shine. They serve a mean apple turnover for breakfast. The flat is technically a loft because it used to be an office and all the partitions got ripped back out, but no one bothered to put walls in. It’s not a huge place, but with the complete lack of division save for the bathroom it feels larger than it is. And it’s stacked to the gills with books. First time Reno saw it, he thought for a moment he’d stepped into the company archives, a place he only visits to intimidate the Mayor into compliance. As it turns out, Tseng just really likes books. It’s the only thing that feels personal about the place. Tseng’s furniture is a motley crew of styles, shapes, and functions, like they were pulled together from different times and places and just added to at random. Out of Tseng’s four dining chairs, only two match. Some pieces look old enough to be a museum exhibit, others like they just sprung out of the nondescript bowels of a flat-pack store. It reminds Reno of his own place in a way, just neater. Though not as neat as Reno would have guessed — it’s clean and organised, but not to military precision. Which, funny enough, makes Rude the neat freak among them. Rude practically lives in a furniture catalog organised to a level only the insane can achieve, so Reno guesses it fits after all. He’s just surprised Rude still lets him come over, since Reno is a vortex of chaos no matter where he goes.

While he shrugs off his hoodie, Reno notices a small stack of new books sitting on Tseng’s dining table. Poetry, maybe? There’s always something new waiting when he comes by.

“Debut author from Corel,” Tseng explains when he follows Reno’s gaze while he chucks his keys into the patterned bowl sitting next to the coat rack, the sound of metal on ceramic ringing through the space. “Poetry about the mining past and social change.”

Reno appreciates that Tseng never patronises him about books, doesn’t use phrases like _you wouldn’t be interested_ or _you wouldn’t know that author_ even though Reno has read maybe five books in his life. He likes stories, but he has no patience for reading. Tseng must do nothing _but_ read during the little free time he has. Whenever he breaks into Tseng’s desk for fun, there’s a different book sitting in the top drawer. Reno likes to scan the blurb and leave a sticky note with his thoughts. No point in pretending Tseng isn’t aware of Reno breaking into the desk. Tseng likes to return the favour by leaving overdue forms in Reno’s drawer. And sweets, on rare occasions, but he’s clever enough to hide them under whatever he wants Reno to do first and relying on Reno’s guilty conscience not to eat it before completing the task. Sometime last week, Reno realised for the first time that it had been their bizarre courtship ritual for about two years. And they say Turks are perceptive.

“Want anything?” Tseng asks and his upper body disappears into the fridge for a moment before he comes back up with a bottle of water in his hand, unscrewing the top.

Reno watches Tseng drink, can’t help but stare at the line of exposed neck as Tseng swallows and the thing in his chest is back gnawing at his insides. Of all the people on this godforsaken planet, Tseng decided to throw in his lot with Reno. 

God, why is he this fucking maudlin? Reno is not lacking in confidence on principle, but he never quite understood or dared to ask what it is that makes Tseng consider him a viable option. And it _was_ Tseng who kissed him first.

“You,” it comes tumbling out of his mouth, in a voice that barely sounds like him. 

Reno clicks his jaw shut, and for a brief moment of hysteria considers his chances of getting away with flinging himself out of the window above the sink. He can‘t even remotely sell that as a bad attempt at sounding suave.

What little dignity is still left in his body forces him to keep his gaze level with Tseng, whose face looks blank to anyone who doesn’t know him. But the tightening around the corners around his mouth, how he taps his index finger against the condensed glass of the water bottle three times, and the way his eyes narrow just that fraction enough to make his focus seem sharper than a razor blade; it tells Reno that Tseng‘s brain is going at breakneck speed.

Finally, after about a year‘s worth of a minute, he puts his bottle down, sighs and grabs Reno‘s face, framing his jaw with his hands.

“You’re an idiot,“ Tseng says in a low pitch, but he doesn‘t sound irritated or tired, like he does when Reno causes mayhem at work. Tseng's voice is a little sad, even apologetic. Tender at the same time. Reno has no clue what to do with that tone from Tseng.

Tseng kisses him again and manhandles him out of the kitchen space, walking him backwards deeper into the open space towards the bed. He makes quick work of the finicky buttons on Reno‘s shirt and pushes the open garment off Reno‘s shoulders, leaving it in a crumpled heap on the floor with his own.

If Reno had any real objections about this turn of events before, they’ve left the building with the rest of his brain. Once Tseng decides to take the reins, he becomes a 180 pound force of nature, and there’s no stopping until someone is dead. Reno will settle for not being able to walk.

Tseng uses his considerable strength to push Reno backwards, and Reno goes down willingly, albeit with an “oof”, head bouncing off the mattress. By the time he makes it up to his elbows, his trousers and pants were already disposed of. Courtesy of what Reno dubs Tseng’s Houdini act, but for porn. 

Tseng‘s mussed ponytail gently swings back and forth like a pendulum, and Reno feels entranced like a cat with a dangling toy. Thanks to his speed, he shoots up before Tseng can even blink and grabs around the tightly gathered tie. Hard, but not enough to hurt, he _pulls_ , knocking Tseng off balance. They crash onto the bed in a heap of tangled limbs, Tseng’s hair tie coming apart under Reno‘s hand. Black hair spills over Reno‘s grasp like ink from a burst pot. A whimper tithering on the line between pain and pleasure falls from Tseng’s lips as Reno hauls him up by a fistful of hair for a biting kiss.

Reno yelps when Tseng nips at his pectoral with sharp teeth, no doubt revenge for the hair pulling. Thankfully, he appears to have no further plans to punish Reno for now, slides lower between the cradle of Reno’s legs and starts blowing him without preamble.

“Shiva’s tits,” Reno groans and lets his head fall back into the pillow. He groans again, but in displeasure when Tseng removes his mouth from Reno’s crotch.

“You better not be thinking about Shiva right now,” Tseng mocks, but his mouth is just a hair‘s width from the juncture of Reno‘s hips and thigh, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin.

Reno groans again. “Not a chance.”

“Right answer.“ Tseng smirks and dives back in, making Reno arch off the bed. 

Tseng doesn‘t do anything by halves, and that includes blowjobs. Reno is a visual guy, he likes to watch, and watching Tseng’s head rhythmically bob up and in his lap, lips wrapped around Reno’s dick – it’s his favourite sight bar none. He used to imagine that to speed up getting off, and the real thing is a lot better than what his mind conjured up. Today, he doesn’t even have the concentration to watch Tseng, and whether that’s because Tseng is trying his level best to make Reno forget the last couple hours or whether he’s just still too keyed up, it works either way because his thoughts extend no further than his cock and the heat and friction surrounding it.

He just floats on the high.

Until he doesn’t, because just when he’s getting up there, getting to that place where the muscles in his abdomen tighten and a current trickles down his spine, Tseng stops.

“Tseeeng,” Reno whines, trying to grab for him with the batting power of a weak kitten, but Tseng has already moved out of the way to rummage in a set of drawers next to the bed.

“Why are you so cruel?” he continues his whining and gets hit in the chest with a crinkling strip of condoms. “Huh?”

Tseng turns to him, and even though his hair is a rumpled mess, his cheeks are tinged with a flush of pink, and he’s naked and hard; the smile he wears is devilish. A man more sensible than Reno might run. 

“Oh, I’m not doing all the work tonight,” he states, a little out of breath and voice raw. “You slacked off earlier, now’s the time.”

“Sorry, there was no space in your lap,” Reno retorts, “your fan club took it all up.” 

He finds himself tackled flat on his back, Tseng towering over him with his palm pressing into Reno‘s sternum. His expression is tinged with displeasure. 

“Self-depreciation doesn‘t suit you,” Tseng says and climbs into Reno‘s lap, thighs splayed across Reno‘s hips.

“You like to complain I‘m too cocky.” 

Reno pushes himself up and slings his arms around Tseng’s midriff, pulling him in closer.

“When you‘re making flight manoeuvres that shave five years off my life.”

Tseng can‘t quite hide a smile and Reno finds himself melting against Tseng’s chest, resting his face against Tseng‘s shoulder.

“Do you trust me?” Tseng asks.

Reno snorts lightly, but his voice is serious: “You know I do.”

“Then trust me to know who I want to spend my time with,” Tseng states, like it‘s the most obvious thing in the world. 

And maybe it is.

“Guess I can do that,” Reno murmurs against Tseng‘s throat.

“Good,” Tseng hums and pulls away far enough to look at Reno. “Now get the lube and fuck me.”

Tseng swears so rarely that it gives Reno a jolt any time that he does. This one goes straight to his cock.

“You bet, boss.”

* * *

Even more than an enthusiast of the visual, Reno is a hands-on kind of guy. Pulling apart the guts and wires in everything from cars to helicopters to Heidegger‘s favourite killer robots, getting the grease under his nails, burning his wrists on hot engine parts — it makes him feel good. And there‘s hand-to-hand combat. He always fights with a weapon first, but there‘s a special thrill about a well-executed right hook connecting with someone‘s face. Feeling a solid cheekbone or jaw crack and give way, blood and scrapes blooming on your knuckles. The tingle of cure knitting skin and bone back together. Reno‘s hands are always playing with something. Pencils, labels, his hair and clothes, food, his EMR — anything. He wears fingerless gloves because he needs to touch things. If it stood still long enough, Reno had probably touched it at some point.

After nearly thirty years on this planet, his inner list of favourites to put his hands on has rearranged itself around Tseng. The fact that he‘s not spending hours playing with Tseng‘s hair is only because Tseng won‘t let him. Reno can‘t get enough of the smooth, silky texture. It always has the same earthy, smokey smell with a bit of citrus — the vetiver in his shampoo. When he can get away with it, he will bury his face in Tseng’s hair and touch and breathe in the scent. Tseng has a few nasty scars from the ship incident at Costa del Sol, and Reno likes to run his fingers along the raised tissue on Tseng‘s torso, in the middle of the night, when he should probably be sleeping. Tseng doesn‘t like the scars much; proof of failure, he calls them. Reno disagrees.

But when it comes down to brass tacks and Reno thinks about it honestly: for all that he‘s entranced with Tseng‘s hair and scars, he‘s a pretty basic man with few refined tastes and his true favourite way of touching Tseng is this moment, right now. Three lubed fingers inside Tseng and the other hand pressing random patterns into the coiled muscles of his back. Thin strands of hair stick to Tseng’s skin, a fine sheen of sweat across it visible in the low light of the room. Reno doesn’t believe in religious experiences, but the sight of Tseng sweating, quivering, and groaning in his lap is as close as he‘s ever gotten to them.

And because turnabout is fair play, he enjoys the sounds of protest Tseng makes when Reno removes his fingers and starts gently pushing Tseng off his lap. Tseng scoots off him backwards and lies down, hair fanning across the pillow while Reno dives for the strip of condoms that got lost in the scramble earlier.

Anticipation makes Reno‘s mouth run dry. They‘ve only really done this once before — it‘s rare that they get the time to spend an entire night together when they‘re not beat from pulling three shifts in a row, chasing around on assignments, or beating SOLDIER rookies within an inch of their lives. Sometimes, all Reno gets to sustain him for days is a dirty, furtive kiss after a meeting before they both have to dash off again. Or even if they get to spend the night, they‘re so utterly exhausted that a blowjob in the shower is all they‘ve got the energy for.

Reno luxuriates in the feeling of Tseng‘s muscles giving way as he pushes into him, seeing his neck arch and hearing the slap of Tseng‘s hand against the plaster behind him for leverage. He takes a couple deep breaths — the tightness, the heat, the sight, it‘s still new enough to almost overwhelm him right there.

“Reno,” Tseng pleads, his voice a rasp.

He winds his fingers into Reno‘s ponytail that‘s fallen over his shoulder and come to rest next to Tseng‘s face. Just the hint of pulling is enough for Reno to finally hook Tseng‘s leg over his shoulder and start moving in earnest.

It‘s easy for him to lose himself in the sensations of the act, to not think about anything other than the tightness around his cock, the rhythmic soundscape of skin slapping against skin, overlaid by Tseng‘s gasps and occasional low pleas for more, Reno‘s own nonsense babble and groans alongside them. The smell of sweat, lube, and sex saturates the air around them. Nothing else matters to him at this very moment, it‘s the sort of high not even the drugs he used to experiment with when he was younger could give him.

Reno feels the crescendo creeping up on him, the current that runs from his extremities to the base of his spine grows more insistent, compelling him to push, harder, faster, make Tseng scrabble for purchase with one hand against the wall and reach between them to stroke himself with the other. He sinks his teeth into Tseng‘s bared throat, bites and nips at the juncture of neck and collarbone until Tseng curses and rises off the mattress, spine arched and yet forced to remain in place by Reno‘s weight atop him. The clenching around his cock becomes nearly unbearable for the moments that Tseng climaxes, his come warm and wet against Reno‘s abdomen. Just a split second later, Reno loses against holding out, his own climax punching the air out of him as he spills inside Tseng and crashes ungainly down on him, unable to hold himself up on his shaky elbows.

“Fuck,” Reno breaks the silence, still gasping for air when he collects himself enough to actually speak anything other than gibberish at all.

Tseng huffs with amusement, panting just as hard as Reno does. Reno can hear Tseng‘s heartbeat race against his ribcage, still riding the cocktail of hormones that just battered them.

“Plan to get up anytime soon?” Tseng mutters, but his absentminded play with Reno‘s hair belies any urgency. “You‘re heavy.”

“Nah, I‘m good right here,” Reno yawns and pretends to settle for good on Tseng‘s chest.

“I‘ll make you sleep in the wet spot,” Tseng threatens, mocking his own command voice.

“Ugh, fine,” Reno laughs and heaves himself upright to clean them up, but not before stealing another kiss.

  


* * *

When he comes to, the sky outside the window at the end of the room is still pitch black, neon signs and the green hue of mako painting the clouds passing by in a murky assortment of colours.

The nightlight is on, and when Reno turns his head, he sees Tseng stretched out beside him, one arm folded behind his head, book in another. Reno observes him for a moment, drinking in the sight of Tseng actually appearing relaxed and unguarded. Or as unguarded as someone like Tseng could be.

“Do you ever sleep?” Reno mutters, syllables still mushed together and heavy with sleep.

A faint smile crosses Tseng‘s face. “Sometimes,” he says, turning his head to look at Reno. “Do you?”

“Here ’n there,” Reno snorts and scoots up against Tseng‘s side. None of them have healthy, normal sleeping patterns. Tseng‘s arm winds around Reno‘s shoulders and pulls him in until Reno‘s head is resting on Tseng’s pectoral. He’s warm, and Reno, who gets cold easily, basks in it.

“Whatcha readin’?” Reno yawns and burrows in closer. “The guy from Corel?“

Tseng hums in agreement. “I wanted to bring it to work later, see if I can get a review from the guy with the sticky notes. His comments are always illuminating.”

“That so?” Reno chuckles. “Read it to me? I‘ll let him know to leave ya something.”

“Thank you,” Tseng replies with a quick smile and begins reading in a quiet voice, lulling Reno gently back to sleep not long after.

For the rest of the night, Reno‘s mind is quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "From a Book of Hours” by Maureen McLane


End file.
